


And Some Things We Don’t Speak About

by FanFreak611



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: (kinda), Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Found Family, Friendship, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Medical Procedures, Multi, Panic Attacks, Pre-Movie: Psych 2: Lassie Come Home, Worried Shawn Spencer, title from epiphany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29303130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFreak611/pseuds/FanFreak611
Summary: Set Before LCH. Juliet gets a phone call about her partner that she will never forget.
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter & Juliet O'Hara, Carlton Lassiter/Marlowe Viccellio, Juliet O'Hara & Marlowe Vicellio, Juliet O'Hara/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	And Some Things We Don’t Speak About

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic kinda goes with the last one I wrote "Doc, I Think She's Crashing Out", you don't have to read that one to understand this one, they're just similar (angsty) themes. HUGE shoutout to Psychlinite for helping me with the medical parts of this fic, anything said by a doctor or a nurse are her words. Thank you again Roxy!!! Also go listen to Epiphany by Taylor Swift because it's great vibes for this fic (and great in general)

She gets the call somewhere between getting home and when they were _supposed_ to eat dinner. Looking back it’s an honest blur, a whirlwind of emotions and movement, but she knows she’ll never forget where she was or what she was doing.

Just minutes before the phone rings, she’s standing in the kitchen with Shawn making dinner. Technically it’s her night to cook but- just like most nights- Shawn had insisted on helping her. The loft is peaceful, though it isn’t quiet between her chopping and him washing vegetables and the easy conversation that flows between them. It’s nice just spending time with him like this and she lets him know by kissing his cheek when he comes over to hand her a pepper. 

And then her phone rings.

She abandons her knife in search of her phone, picking it up off the counter where she left it. Her face instantly brightens when she sees the picture of her old partner and his wife spread across the screen. 

“Hey Marlowe,” She chirps after answering the phone. “How’s it going?”

There’s a long pause on the other side of the phone, so long that she wonders if it was a misdial or their connection cut out. But then she hears a sniffle and a shaky breath and suddenly her cop senses are going off like crazy. Something is wrong, something is very wrong. 

“Marlowe?” She questions, much slower than before. Her chest feels tight and she briefly glances at Shawn- who’s taken up her abandoned cutting job- feeling a little bit better when she does- though not much.

Marlowe’s voice finally comes through, though it's raw and shaky, cracking on almost every word. _”Juliet. It- it’s Carlton.”_

She rounds the table, sitting down in one of the stools. Shawn has all but stopped his chopping, looking at her with worry and curiosity but she pays him no mind. Instead, she turns her head, looking across the room at a picture on their bookshelf. A picture of her and Carlton.

“Marlowe, what’s wrong?” Her voice comes out even despite the shake in her bones that threatens to overtake her. “Did you and Carlton have a fight or something because I can talk some sense into him. After all, we both know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.” 

She knows it’s not that. That it must be something else to get Marlowe so rattled. But that doesn’t stop her from desperately hoping it’s not.

 _“No-”_ There’s a sob and then a deep breath and she can picture the woman mustering up the energy to talk. _”Juliet… Carlton got shot.”_

And that’s when her world stops. Well, more like comes to a crashing, grinding halt. 

She forgets how to breathe, her chest so tight that she’s not sure she’ll ever breathe normally again as Marlowe chokes out the details. He was shot three times in the chest. He’s in surgery right now. They’re not sure he’s going to make it.

She’s barely off the phone- promising to get there as quickly as she can- before nearly sprinting to their bedroom. Shawn follows closely behind as she throws open their closet, ripping a suitcase from inside and nearly toppling over a stack of his shirts in the process. The suitcase lands heavily on their bed and is soon joined by as many shirts and pants and other clothes as she can get her hands on. Normally she’d spend time making sure she had the right amount of clothes picked and planned out but this is hardly normal and she no longer cares if her shirt and pants go together.

Shawn says something and it takes her a minute to realize that he’s been talking this whole time. She’s been so focused on packing that she hasn’t heard much of anything. 

“Jules, what’s wrong?” 

She briefly pauses her trek into their bathroom to grab her toothbrush, turning around to look at him. His eyes search her face and she can practically see the wheels turning as he puts together the clues.

“What happened to Lassie?”

“He got shot.” She hates how her voice breaks on the last word. As much as she’d love to let her emotions take over, to cry it out surrounded by his arms, she can’t afford to waste a single second. So she goes back to packing, to focusing on something else, only half-listening to her husband’s words.

“Oh no,” He barely breathes and she sees him step a little closer. “Oh no, sweetheart I’m so sorry. He’ll be okay, he’s Lassie remember?”

She freezes, one hand still in her suitcase where she just put her boots. Her heart hammers hard inside her chest and while she can’t meet his eyes, she knows that his expression is a mix of sadness and worry. Taking a shaky breath, she returns to packing. “I need to go to Santa Barbara.”

“I know.” A pause. “I’ll come with.”

She shakes her head, stomach twisting as she hears the audible groan from her husband.

“Come on Jules, it’s Lassie. Besides, I can’t let you go there alone.”

“I won’t be alone, Marlowe will be there.”

There’s a small slapping sound and she knows he just dropped his arms in frustration. “Jules-.”

She turns around, staring right at him, gaze unwavering. “No Shawn. We can’t go and spend five hundred dollars on plane tickets. It might not even be that serious! Besides, who’s gonna tell Gus or Karen? We can’t just uproot our lives because someone got shot.”

“Someone? Jules, it’s Lassiter. Carlton Lassiter. Co-worker and friend for a better part of a decade.”

“I know, I know.” She runs her hands down her face. “How about this? I’ll call you and update you on what’s happening and then you and Gus can drive up tomorrow depending on the news?”

“Come o-”

“Shawn, I have to go,” she states, turning back to the suitcase.

After a moment he sighs, “Okay Jules, okay. I’ll talk to Karen, make sure you get time off but Gus and I will drive up tonight.”

She looks at him, mouth open and ready to object but he shakes his head. “Jules… it’s Lassie.”

Sighing, she nods before zipping her suitcase closed. In a second he’s at her side, taking the bag from her and hoisting it off the bed.

“I’m also going to drive you to the airport.”

She looks up at him, feeling tears prick in the corner of her eyes but ultimately blinks them back. “Thank you.”

Dropping the suitcase, he pulls her into a hug, encasing her in his arms. He places a kiss against her hair. “I love you, Jules. It’s going to be okay.”

All she can do is nod and hold on to him, hoping that he’ll be right.

___

It takes her two hours to get to Santa Barbara between the drive to and from the airport, security, baggage claim, and the flight itself. It’s two hours longer than she would’ve liked.

Then again, she should be thankful that it hadn’t been longer. She had been lucky to even get a flight on such short notice. The flight had lasted just over an hour but she managed to throw up three times, sick to her stomach with worry. There had been a few times that she even considered flashing her badge to cut down on time but then she thought about how that would be something that Carlton would do and the temptation was lost.

Bursting through the front doors of Santa Barbara General Hospital, her stomach churns and she fights the urge to throw up again. She’s been here way too many times, haunted by long nights spent worrying over Shawn or Gus or Carlton, or the terrible times when a victim just didn’t make it. Aside from the births of both Iris and Lily, she’s barely ever been here for something good.

She hates that this time is no exception.

She finds Marlowe sitting in the corner of the waiting room and notes her tear-stained cheeks, her puffy red eyes, and the necklace she twists between her fingers. There’s a small handful of officers standing around, a few of them half-heartedly waving to her as she passes, and she gives them a small nod before taking a seat next to her.

At her movement, Marlowe’s eyes snap to her face and her heart breaks a little as she sees the distressed look in them. 

Placing a hand on her knee, she pushes her own feelings aside, willing herself to stay strong- for the both of them. “Marlowe are you okay? Where’s Lily, do you need me to go get her?”

“Lily’s fine,” Her voice is soft and quivers as she speaks. “Buzz took her when he came to tell me about- He said he’d do anything to help out Carlton.”

Juliet nods, silently thanking the tall detective for his kindness. The last thing Marlowe needs right now is to be worrying about her daughter as well.

“Thank you for coming.” She speaks up again, palm covering Juliet’s hand and giving her a small squeeze. 

Juliet nods again, worried that if she speaks, if she says or does _anything_ , then the emotions she carefully sealed away will finally bust through. So she does anything but. Instead, she holds Marlowe’s hand or checks in with the nurse or fights the urge to pull out her gun- to give her hands something to do- to find some way to destress. 

She’s not sure how long they sit there, waiting in painful existence. It feels like hours- at times it feels like _days_ \- but when she asks a nearby officer for the time, he gives her a worried look and tells her it’s only been five minutes since the last time she asked.

It’s torture. Waiting… knowing nothing… trying to be the source of comfort for Marlowe while she herself spirals deeper and deeper with every passing minute. He needs to be okay, for Marlowe and Lilly and the entire SBPD. _She_ needs him to be okay. 

She feels selfish even thinking about it. But he’s already missed her wedding and she can’t bear the thought of him missing all of the big events to come. Not even that, he’s her partner, has been for thirteen years. Even if they no longer work together, he will always be her partner. They’ve served alongside each other for so long, formed a bond deeper than words. After all this time, he’d become her brother- her family.

She can’t lose her family.

Shaking her head, she tries to cast out those thoughts. Carlton is strong. No matter what happens, he always bounces back, always winds up okay. It takes him a few days- sometimes even a few weeks- but then he’s back to normal, back to the Carlton she knows and loves. There’s no reason to believe that now won’t be an exception.

Marlowe squeezes her hand, pulling her from her thoughts. It’s something they’ve become accustomed to doing over the hours of waiting, a little lifeline of support. Every squeeze means that they’re not alone- that even if no words are exchanged between them, neither of them are alone.

She offers up a half-hearted smile, knowing it doesn’t reach her eyes. Everything feels too tense, too heavy, and the weight of it threatens to suffocate her completely. All she wishes is for a doctor or a nurse to come out, to tell them that Carlton is out of surgery, that he’s all right. 

As if Shawn’s fake psychic powers were temporarily bestowed upon her, a nurse walks into the lobby led by a doctor. Though the nurse's face is a blank slate of professionalism, Juliet can read a bit of forlorn behind her eyes, a bit of apprehension.

She should have known by now to always be careful what you wish for.

“Family of Carlton Lassiter?”

Marlowe nearly jumps to her feet, dropping their joined hands in the meanwhile, more hope shining in her brown eyes than there has been for the past few hours. Juliet wishes she could grasp onto that same hope but a pit of dread has begun forming in her stomach, swallowing any hope she could possibly have. The idea of just sitting here, waiting until Marlowe comes back with news, sounds more appealing than forcing her possibly shaking legs to work. But Marlowe doesn’t give her that option, instead extending her hand once again.

The nurse greets them with kind, tired eyes. She’s holding a clipboard close to her chest and Juliet has to fight the urge to sneak a peek. At this point, she’s not sure if knowing ahead of time will be that much better. 

The doctor is a lot more restrained, her shoulders held back but there is still compassion in her eyes and she speaks with an even, understanding tone. “During the surgery, an embolus was dislodged resulting in a severe multifocal ischemic stroke. Due to the severity of the CVA, we have started him on a high dose of propofol and phenobarbital to keep him sedated.”

Juliet is no doctor, but she’s been around hospitals and filed enough police reports to know that none of those are good words. She can feel her chest tighten and her hands must be shaking because Marlowe wraps her other hand around hers.

The doctor nods and walks away, the nurse staying behind. She must’ve noticed their confused faces because what she says next is far more clear- and far more real.

“Chief Lassiter suffered a stroke after one of the clots from his bullet injuries dislodged and got stuck in the blood vessels in his brain, causing him to lose blood flow to the area. The doctors have put him in a medically induced coma so his brain can rest and recover. Unfortunately, due to the location of the stroke and the size of the are affected, it’s hard to determine how this will affect him long term now. I’m sorry.” 

There’s something about being in a state of shock that feels surreal. It’s almost like flying- except you don’t realize that you’re actually falling until a second too late until the ground catches up and you crash and burn. Or at least, that’s how it feels for Juliet.

Part of her brain is yelling at her to keep it together, to stay strong. That Marlowe is experiencing what she’s feeling, except it’s so much worse for her. But she’s not sure if she can even communicate with the rest of her body anymore. 

There’s a ringing in her ears, her blood running cold. She can’t hear anything other than the ringing, heck she can barely breathe. She’s not even sure where she is anymore. Everything is too bright, too quiet, too dark, too loud, all blurring together in blinding dissonance. She barely registers a hand on her shoulder or being sat down. Everything feels too real and yet not real at all. It’s chaotic and horrible and she _hates_ it.

And then everything comes back in blinding reality and she thinks she hates this more. The nurse is kneeling in front of her, coaxing her to breathe and Marlowe is gripping her hand like a vice, following the nurse’s directions like it’s the only thing that’s holding her together. At this point it probably is.

She’s not sure when her lungs begin to work again. All she knows is that at some point the nurse is satisfied that she isn’t going to pass out and returns to her work. Which leaves her and Marlowe alone.

It’s unfair. All of it is not fair. This is Lassiter. Carlton Lassiter. The man who took down gang members and murders, who survived being lost in the woods, who saved her from falling off a clock tower. He’s strong, no-nonsense, but also caring and warm. He’s the brother she never had, closer to him than the rest of her biological family. Her best friend. Her family.

And now they’re not sure if he’ll live or die. Their lives will be forever changed by three sentences. He needs to pull through, he needs to be okay. But even if he is, what then? How bad will his stroke be?

It’s too many questions and far too few answers. 

She really regrets telling Shawn not to come. She knows she’s strong, knows she doesn’t need a man to comfort her but she’d be lying if being wrapped up in his arms didn’t make her feel even a little bit better. 

She needs to call him, needs to tell him what happened. She needs to call the Chief, let her know that she won’t be in for a few days- that she needs to be here. She needs to do so much, to say so much, but her body refuses to move, her head spinning. All she can do is look at Marlowe, her breath hitching as she does. 

The woman’s face is ashen and it’s unnerving considering how pale she normally is. Her hand is clenched around her necklace, so hard that her knuckles are turning white. Juliet hates this. Hates it so much. It’s tearing them both up, gnawing away at every semblance of sanity they have left. 

She’s trying so dang hard to keep it together, to be there for Marlowe but then she finally looks up- their eyes connecting- and Juliet can feel that carefully built wall crumble. 

A sob escapes from her throat and then a tear trickles down her cheek, burning a wet path across her skin. 

And the wall finally breaks. It bursts open and every single emotion she’s been holding back for the past few hours comes rushing to the surface.

She wraps an arm around Marlowe’s shoulders. It’s a little awkward considering there’s an armrest between them, but neither really cares. Marlowe instantly latches on, wrapping her arms around Juliet’s waist. Shutting her eyes tight, she lets the tears she’s been holding back flow free, streaking down her cheeks and pooling around her neck. She can hear Marlowe sobbing loudly, her body trembling with each shaky breath and she holds her just a little bit tighter.

Her chest aches knowing there’s nothing more she could do. She can barely even comfort Marlowe because there is no comfort in a situation like this. 

Carlton is her best friend, her brother. He’s Marlowe’s husband, the father to her child. There is no good. There is no bright side. There’s just the two of them, in more pain than they’d ever felt in their lives. And all she can do is hope that they’ll get through this, one way or another.


End file.
